


Bitty is Hoping

by DisraeliGears



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Jack's bod is hella, M/M, Muscles, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-slash pining, aftermath of 'don't fall for a straight boy'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 08:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10184924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisraeliGears/pseuds/DisraeliGears
Summary: The morning after baking that pie with Jack...Bitty is hoping against hope that it was just a fluke.Which it was...right?





	

Bitty is hoping yesterday was a fluke. 

When he looked at Jack… _really looked_ …all covered in flour and glowing in the sun, and his heart had done a whole Cirque du Soleil routine in his chest…

That was fluke, right? 

Probably something to do with low blood pressure or dehydration or caffeine withdrawal. Something of that nature. 

Bitty sighs probably a bit too dramatically, breaks from his reverie of staring out the kitchen window, and opens the fridge for breakfast inspiration. 

He sees the pie he and Jack made yesterday.

He closes the fridge. 

While he’s eating his toast with peanut butter and staring unseeing at the wall, Ransom comes into the kitchen. He gets his Cheerios, sets out his bowl and plunks down heavily in his chair. There is silence for a while, with only the muffled crunching.

Ransom skims through his phone for a while, then seems to realize he’s forgotten something. He looks up at Bitty. 

“Morning Bits.”

“Morning Rans.” 

That seems to be about it. They go back to eating; Ransom skimming Facebook, Bitty staring at the cabinets. 

About five minutes of quiet crunching later, there’s the shuffling and creaking of someone coming down the stairs. The creaking stops, following by the appropriate interval of time required to get from the stairs to the kitchen…

And Bitty just stops himself inhaling a piece of toast, and stares _even harder_ at the cabinet door.

Jack comes into the kitchen. He squints blearily at Bitty and Ransom, then goes to the fridge. 

Bitty lets himself look, and regrets it real bad. 

Jack is in his boxers. Only his boxers. Boxers that were bought for him probably when he was skinnier and not in ‘NHL scouts are looking at me’ shape. Boxers that are slung low on his hips.

They _hug._

Bitty didn’t see anything. Not one thing. Not Jack’s perfect ass. Not his back muscles or triceps or that little divet where the lower back muscles attach to the pelvis… 

Nope. He saw _nothing at all worth mentioning._

Jack rummages in the fridge and apparently finds what he’s looking for. He closes the fridge and turns back around, rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. 

He says something, which Bitty doesn’t recognize one word of and thinks maybe he’s had a stroke before realizes Jack is speaking French. 

“English.” Ransom says, not even looking up from his phone.

Jack clears his throat and tries again. His voice is rough and gravelly from sleep, and his accent is...uh…present. 

“Bittle, when do we have to get the pie to Professor Atley?”

Bitty glances at Jack, looks for about long enough to see Jack’s sleepy face and stupid abdominal muscles and then looks back at the cabinet. 

“By three.” he says. And doesn’t look back at Jack.

His eyes burn a bit and he realizes he hasn’t been blinking, so he blinks three times in rapid succession. 

“Okay. So morning skate, lunch, groceries, then we can go?”

“Yup.” Bitty says.

“Okay.” Jack cracks open his protein shake, drains it all in one go and then caps it off, throws it and bins it neatly from the other side of the kitchen.

Ransom says ‘swoosh’ under is breath, but is still looking at his phone and scrolling.

Jack yawns and shuffles out of the kitchen. Bitty’s eye flick _entirely of their own accord_ to watch him go. He gets about as far as Jack’s shapely and toned calves before he has to look away. 

He listens to the sound of Jack shuffling back upstairs, and then the thump of his door closing. 

Bitty looks down at his toast, and then stares off into space again. 

“Ransom.” he says.

“Mmm?” 

“It wasn’t a fluke.”

Ransom lifts his bowl and drinks the milk from the bottom with one hand, still scrolling through Facebook and reading somehow.

“Mmm.” he agrees.


End file.
